Goretober
by Nightfoot
Summary: A series of shorts featuring Flynn in a variety of unpleasant situations.
1. Amputation

This is a collection of unrelated shorts, set in a variety of of AUs or canon settings. I'm combining two different Goretober lists and picking my favourites from each, and doing them in any order. I plan to post these regularly throughout October.

* * *

 **#1 Amputation**

Flynn took a deep breath. "It's alright, Yuri. Help is coming. When I don't arrive in Mantaic by tomorrow, knights will be sent out looking for us."

"We can't wait that long." Yuri paced around the path. Ever since he'd hit his head, he'd been determined to stay on his feet and keep himself active, in fear of passing out and never waking up again. Against Flynn's advice, he'd stayed awake all night, refusing to sleep in case monsters showed up.

The pair had met up in Nordopolica and then travelled to Mantaic together. They'd taken a detour after passing through the Weasand of Cados to hunt some monsters and have a good time before Flynn was expected to arrive in Mantaic for meetings with the local captain, but the trip had gone disastrously. Just before lunch, the narrow ledge they were crossing cracked and gave out, sending them tumbling thirty feet to the loop of the path below. For once, Yuri had the luck. He'd banged his head in the fall and took about a minute to regain consciousness after they landed, but he seemed to have gotten off with little more then scratches and bruises.

Flynn hadn't been so lucky. He'd landed on the ground, and then the rest of the ledge had landed on him. He was on his side, with one leg pulled up to avoid the rubble, while the other disappeared under it. The space between the ground and the underside of the boulder was nowhere near as wide as his calf. The pile of rock on top of it was nowhere near light enough for Yuri to lift. Until someone came with a really good lever, he was stuck.

They'd tried everything, of course. Yuri had pulled and tugged until Flynn screamed for him to stop because it felt like his leg was being ripped off. Yuri tried wedging other rocks under the boulder in hope of getting a few extra centimetres and enough wiggle room to slide Flynn out. They'd tried yelling for help, but stopped when to attracted monsters and Yuri struggled to fight them off while protecting Flynn and dealing with his own wooziness from the head injury.

That had been twenty-four hours ago. They didn't have much water left, and what they had, Yuri insisted on giving to Flynn. The Desier sun baked down on them, which had been nice for the first ten minutes after the freezing night but now Flynn wanted to turn off the sun. His face was surely sunburned from lying here for so long. Sandpaper coated his dry throat, a dozen aches from the fall throbbed, and his lower leg below the knee was a constant mass of agony. If only he'd been wearing his armour, but he hadn't wanted to wear all of it on a day mostly devoted to walking long distances.

"Yuri, if you're really concerned, you should go to town." It was probably about a two hour walk to Mantaic from here, or longer due to weakness. "Go get help."

"No!" Yuri waved his arms, which turned into a pinwheel to keep his balance. "I can't leave you here. Monsters will smell the blood and you'll be dead by the time I get back with help!"

Flynn sighed, knowing it was true. He also knew that if Yuri didn't start drinking water and getting sleep, he wasn't going to last until knights finally found them. Flynn thought he could hold off for at least another day, but he wasn't so sure about Yuri. During their time stuck here, he'd watched Yuri grow progressively unstable. He must have a concussion at the least, and Flynn worried about swelling or bleeding in his brain on top of the dehydration and exhaustion "Yuri, please just sit in the shade and drink some water. You need it."

Yuri shook his head - a mistake, because it made him so dizzy he nearly fell over and clutched a boulder to stay upright. "You need it. You're hurt really bad, and losing fluid through blood loss."

"I'm not actually bleeding that much." He wiggled his leg as much as he could experimentally. It hurt so deeply and so constantly that he barely noticed the uptick in pain from the movement. "The boulder is pressing down with enough force that blood isn't flowing."

"That's not better!" Yuri waved his arms and then pressed a hand to his head. "You're going to die and the knights aren't going to come because fuck if I trust them and so it's just me, right? Just me. I gotta get us out of here. It's only me and you and the rock and this _fucking_ sun and water we need water-"

"Yuri!"

"-and I have to get you out of here before more monsters come 'cause I don't think I can fight them any more and they're gonna eat you and fuck I'm so thirst aren't you thirsty?"

"No, because you keep giving me the water. Lie down!" His rambling was scaring Flynn. "Yuri, you are hurt, too."

"I'm not. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine. You're the one that's hurt."

"You have a concussion, and maybe worse. You're sleep-deprive and dehydrated. Please, Yuri, sit down in the shade and rest."

"How?!" He kicked a rock and it nearly smashed Flynn's head as it flew down the path. "Can't rest. Monsters might come soon. How can I fight monsters when the ground is shifting?"

"It's not shifting. Yuri, please, you're scaring me."

"No! I'm fine! I can't sleep because I hit my head and you know they say that if you go to sleep after you hit you're head you'll get a coma and die and what if I fall asleep and can't wake up and you're stuck here starving to death and monsters eat you. No, no, can't sleep won't sleep need to stay alert. Need to get you out of here." Yuri's face was bone white. There was a bit of pink on his cheeks, but Flynn was certain that was sunburn rather than a healthy flush.

"Drink some water!" It was impossible to reason with Yuri when he was delirious like this, and yet the only way to straighten him out was to convince him to drink and lie down.

Yuri stood on the edge of the path and looked down toward Mantaic. "We need to get there."

"Yes, and we will. Tomorrow. I'm supposed to arrive tomorrow, so when I don't, they'll send people out to look for us."

"They won't!" Yuri spun around so fast, he wobbled and nearly fell down the mountain. "They all think the sun shines out your ass! It'll be days before they start to think that mighty Flynn might need help! And we'll be dead by then!"

This argument was going in circles. Flynn was hungry, tired, thirsty, and in a good deal of pain, and he did not feel like having it again. "Then _go_. Just… just go to Mantaic. Get help." He rubbed his forehead, gently due to the burns. He'd actually feel better once he was alone, because Yuri had stopped being a comforting companion this morning when the concussion, sleep deprivation and dehydration had finally snapped him. Now he was just an added source of stress. "I'll be fine for a couple hours. Go get help if you're so restless."

Yuri stood over Flynn, leaning on the boulder with one hand to stay upright. He stared at Flynn with glassy eyes. "No. I can't leave you. You'll die and it will be because I left and I can't live with that. And what will the Empire do? They need you. I have to take you back with me."

"I'll be fine." Yuri's expression was really scaring him. He almost looked hungry, and Flynn's growling stomach reminded him that they'd eaten the last of the food in their pack yesterday evening. He didn't think Yuri was at the point of cannibalizing his body, but the hunger was certainly making him desperate. When Flynn spoke, he tried to keep his tension hidden and used a calm, reassuring voice. "Monsters haven't come by in a while. I have my sword. If something does show up, I promise I can fend it off until you get back. Go to Mantaic, tell them where I am, then let them deal with it and go to a doctor."

Yuri didn't seem to have even heard him. "We have to leave. We need food. We need water. We have to get out of here."

"Yes, which is why you should walk down to-"

"I'll get you out of here." Yuri swivelled around and then returned with their leather backpack. With fumbling hands, he used his sword to cut off one of the straps. Flynn watched with confusion until Yuri crouched by his side and began wrapping the strip around Flynn's leg, just above the knee.

"What are you doing?"

"Your leg won't come loose from the boulder. No one is coming to help us. I'll free you." He pulled tighter and with a flash of horror, Flynn realized he was applying a tourniquet.

"No!" With his free leg, he kicked Yuri away. "Don't even think about about it. I can hold out for the few hours it would take you to get help!"

Yuri slowly shook his head. "Monsters will come. I can't leave you here. I'll get you out."

"Not like this."

"I'll get you out." He tried to reach for the tourniquet again and Flynn swung his fists to keep him back.

"Dammit, Yuri! You're not being rational!"

"I just need to free you from the boulder."

Flynn kicked hard and Yuri fell off the balls of his feet. "If you try to touch my leg again, I will break your nose."

Yuri sat up, panting. It occurred to Flynn that his own face dripped with sweat, while Yuri's was dry as the rock. From the moment they'd been injured, Yuri had prioritized Flynn's survival, no matter what the cost.

"You'll die if I leave. I'll get you out. I can do unpleasant things to help you. I'll get you out."

"Stop saying that!"

Yuri opened the pack again and began digging. He pulled out a length of thin rope and nodded to himself. "Ok. It'll be fine. I'll get you out." Yuri carried the rope to Flynn's other side and then grabbed his arms.

"Let go! Yuri, dammit, you're not thinking straight."

Flynn was stronger, but Yuri had better leverage. After struggling with each other for a minute, Yuri managed to twist Flynn's arms behind his back and wrap the rope around his wrists. He wound it tight until the rope bit into Flynn's skin.

"Stop! Yuri, untie me this instant!"

Flynn used his free leg to try to kick him, but Yuri caught his ankle. He took the loose end of the knot at Flynn's wrists and wound it around Flynn's ankle until his leg was stuck curled upward.

"Ok." Yuri rubbed the side of Flynn's head with affection. "Ok, stop fighting. I'll get you out. I'm helping."

"You're insane!" Flynn twisted and pulled, but he could undo the knots holding his limbs. "For fuck's sake, Yuri, think about what you're doing!"

"I'm helping." Yuri knelt by Flynn's side and began tightening the tourniquet once more. There was a tin knife in the pack from lunch, which he wrapped with the rest of the strap and then began twisting.

Flynn felt the band tighten around his leg with a sinking heart. Yuri was really serious about this. "Yuri, come on, please think rationally. I'm not going to die if you leave me here for a few hours."

"You don't know that."

"I might die of blood loss if you go through with this."

"That's what the tourniquet is for." It was taking a long time for him to tighten it because his muscles were so weak.

"Then let's sit here together, share the rest of the water, and wait for the knights to come."

"Can't trust 'em." He sat back, satisfied with the tourniquet.

Flynn's heart throbbed as Yuri picked up Flynn's sword from the path. It was heavier than Yuri's. Better at crushing bone. "Yuri, don't."

Yuri gripped it in both hands and knelt next to Flynn.

"Yuri!" Flynn twisted and struggled but there was nothing he could do to protect his exposed leg. "Please! Don't do this, Yuri. Don't. We can wait."

Yuri took deep breaths, glazed eyes fixed on the leg. "It'll be ok, Flynn. I'll get you out."

"Not like this. Don't. Please, _please_ , don't. Drink some water and think this-"

Yuri brought the sword down. It struck just below the knee and Flynn howled. When the sword raised again, blood smeared a patch along its length. It came down again and Flynn's vision went white.

"Stop! Yuri, please, stop! Don't! Stop, stop, stop!"

Yuri glanced at his face, and then dug into the backpack again. Flynn panted and tried to control his shaking. He was certain his tibia was cracked and all the skin and muscle in a line across the top of his leg had been sliced open. Yuri pulled out a bandana from the depths of the bag and folded it into a thick wad.

He shoved this into Flynn's mouth and said, "Bite down on that. You'll feel better."

Flynn's eyebrows knitted together in a pleading look, but he didn't spit out the cloth because he knew Yuri was right. Yuri picked up the sword again and Flynn struggled to steady his breathing. He squeezed his eyes tight and mentally chanted, _stop, stop, stop, stop, stop…._

The next time the sword bit his leg, he ground his teeth into the bandana and smothered his scream. He'd heard something crack and prayed that Yuri had broken through the first bone. Then the sword came again and the pain just got worse and worse. It was like cutting down a tree, and Yuri just kept hacking away with the sword, working through the muscle, sinew, and bone bit by bit. Flynn kept his eyes clamped shut, because hearing the squelch of muscle and crunch of bone was bad enough. Even with them closed, every blow of the sword made his vision flash red and his hearing turn to static. What might be the worst was knowing that this was the worst pain he'd ever experienced and Yuri was the one to cause it. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to look at his friend the same way again.

It dragged on, and on. Surely Yuri had made a hundred blows by now - a thousand. It just kept going, getting worse each time the sword dug into his flesh. Deep breaths through his nose and teeth digging into the cloth so tight his temples ached were the only thing keeping him grounded enough not to vomit.

"Flynn." Something touched his face and he jerked away, expecting it to hurt. "Flynn, it's over. I did it."

Flynn cracked his eyes open and then blinked away tears. Yuri's face was so close to his; he wanted to punch it. Yuri left, and then the rope around his wrists and ankle were cut away. He risked a glance at his leg and realized Yuri had already used his vest as a bandage and tied it tightly around the stump. Blood pooled in the dirt below the stump, and his stomach lurched at the sight of the mangled remnants of his leg still crushed beneath the boulder.

"We can go now. Get up."

Flynn spat out the saliva-soaked cloth. "Fuck you."

Yuri grabbed Flynn's arms and pulled. "Time to leave. We're going to get water. Let's go."

Flynn moaned as Yuri dragged him onto his feet - no, foot. Fuck. He leaned all his weight on Yuri and struggled not to pass out. He couldn't even walk. Yuri said he needed to save Flynn because the Empire needed him, but what good was he now that he couldn't walk? He clung to Yuri, unable to even stand without help. His breath came in shaky heaves. Yuri started walking and Flynn had to force himself to hop to keep up. It still seemed to unreal that he was leaving his leg behind. Maybe this was all a bad dream.

But a dream wouldn't hurt this much. His bloody stump throbbed with every movement. As he hobbled along, trying not to pass out, he had to face the grim reality: Yuri had chopped off his leg.


	2. Ritualistic Sacrifice

**#2 Ritualistic Sacrifice**

Flynn Scifo, _primus pilus_ of the second legion of Augustus, centurion in command of one hundred troops, sat in a hut. His knees ached from how long he'd been sitting on them, but with his wrists and ankles bound around a post supporting the thatch roof, he didn't have much choice.

All things considered, he was not enjoying Britannia. The dreary skies dumped rain day after day, making for miserable marches. It was damp and cool, and he hated the thought of being on an island, so cut off from the rest of the world. He wasn't sure why Caesar even wanted this rainy island so much, and would rather maintain their borders on the mainland than participate in this invasion. He missed their outpost in Germania, where at lest the barbarians didn't cover themselves in inhuman blue paint when they came charging into battle. And importantly, those barbarians had never bested his centuria in battle.

He'd called for a retreat when it became clear they were being overrun. At the top of a hill, he'd turned back to see that the final contubernia had been cut off by the Britons, and the eight soldiers still standing were surrounded. Under no circumstances could he give his men up for lost and run away, so he turned around and charged into the throng of shirtless, blue-painted warriors. He managed to cut down a few of them, and broke an opening in their ranks that allowed his legionaries to break out. They tried to assist him, but Flynn had furiously shouted for them to regroup with the rest of the centuria. They obeyed, and Flynn was swarmed.

He hadn't expected to survive at all. The Britons may have less advanced weapons and hardly any armour, but their blades were still sharp and it was only common sense that they'd eventually cut him down. It had been a surprise, then, when he instead found himself disarmed and marched at spear-point to their village. Heavy wooden walls surrounded a cluster of round huts, each with a steeply conical thatch roof. Villagers quieted and watched him pass; mothers grabbed their curious children and pulled them away. It was somehow odd to see British children. His only interaction with the natives of this land were the warriors.

He'd been taken to a small hut, his armour and left him in just his tunic, and then tied to one of the posts holding up the roof. That had been several hours ago, and his injuries from the fight had had time to sink in and make themselves known. Perhaps they planned to hold him hostage to negotiate being left alone, but Flynn didn't have much hope in Commander Vespasian exchanging all of this territory for a single centurion. If only he could speak the British language and explain this to them.

It didn't seem like he had much hope of breaking out of here on his own, but he wouldn't give up hope yet. His centuria had always been fiercely loyal to him, and perhaps they'd ignored his order to retreat. The unit he'd charged in to rescue had seemed reluctant to leave him behind, after all. Maybe they were already regrouping and marching to the village.

The wooden door swung in and a pair of men entered. Flynn eyed them with trepidation as they approached. They weren't the shirtless, painted warriors he was used to dealing with, but older, with greying hair and brown robes. One of them stood before him holding a loop of verbena flowers tied in a cord. He spoke, but not to Flynn, which didn't matter because Flynn didn't understand a word anyway. Then he lowered the flowers around Flynn's neck and stepped away. The petals tickled his neck and Flynn had to wonder why these people were giving him flowers. The second one stepped in next and crouched in front of him. He gave some sort of instruction while holding a bronze cup toward him. The fading sun through the doorway reflected on the whirls engraved on the gleaming surface. Flynn got the impression he was meant to drink it, so he opened his mouth.

The man tipped the cup into his mouth, but after the first mouthful, he twisted his head away and spat it out. It was mead, but the most awful tasting variety he'd ever had. Flynn had never liked mead much in the first place, but they had added some supremely bitter flavour to it that made his nose wrinkle. He couldn't imagine what purpose this drink was supposed to serve, because surely they hadn't thought it would be a refreshing drink as an act of decency to their prisoner. He coughed and the first man slapped him across the face. The man with the drink held it forward and spoke again, certainly telling Flynn to keep drinking. Flynn, who still couldn't get the flavour out of his mouth, suspected it was poison and kept his lips sealed. He didn't know the point of poisoning him when they'd already gone through the trouble of not killing him in battle, but he wasn't taking any chances.

The one who had held the flowers said something with irritation and then gripped Flynn's jaw and squeezed. Flynn's mouth was forced open as the fingers dug painfully into his cheeks, and his head was tilted backward. The other poured the foul drink into his mouth and then used his other hand to cover Flynn's mouth when he tried to close his throat and keep it from going down. The man's grip on his head was move than he could shake off and when the need to breathe became to great, he was forced to swallow. He'd barely gotten that one down when the man resumed forcing his mouth open so the rest of the cup could be poured down his throat. Flynn didn't bother fighting it this time

When he'd swallowed, he sucked in air through his mouth to try to quell the taste. One of the men then cut the ropes and they hauled him to his feet. After kneeling for hours, his knees were stiff and he stumbled as they led him out of the hut. The low sun cast long shadows on the empty paths through the village. Where were all the residents? The men led him back the way they'd come in, through the thick wooden gate and into the fields around the village. Perhaps they were taking him to another village. They took him around the wall to the other side of the village, where he found the rest of the residents. The few dozen people were gathered around a grove of oak trees, in the centre of which was a large grey stone with a roughly level surface. Whirls and spirals like the patterns on the cup had been carved into the rock.

When he got closer, he was able to make out the pattern on the level surface. It was a three-pronged spiral; an image he'd seen frequently since arriving in Britain. Three individual spirals flowed together into a triangle shape in the middle. The Britons were obsessed with the number three, from what he'd seen. They had gods that were actually three different gods all rolled into one, which reminded him of something from that new Christian cult.

After looking away from the rock, he took in the cloaked people standing closest to it. One held a knife, one a rope, and the other a bone club. Flynn took in the ring of villagers, the wicked sharpness of the knife, and the table-like rock that screamed 'altar', and knew exactly why they hadn't killed him on the battlefield. They'd wanted to kill him special .

Flynn slammed his elbows into the men holding his arms, throwing them off. In their surprise, he broke away and took off into the field. Shouts came close behind, but Flynn paid them no heed. He'd long ago accepted that death in battle was a possible consequence of being a soldier, but he wouldn't lie there and be used as a sacrifice for his enemies' gods. If a soldier died, he was supposed to go down fighting, not thrown on an altar like a slaughtered pig. He ran in the general direction his troops had retreated in earlier, hoping they were also marching toward him, but his steps weren't going as fast as he would have liked. The horizon was moving uncertainly, too, and he wondered just what had been in that drink they'd forced on him. He slowed down, weakness sinking through his muscles. Villagers were closing in on him, and in seconds they were upon him.

Flynn fought. The villagers hadn't come prepared for a battle, so they were as unarmed as he was. He might have even been able to fight them all off if not for the wooziness. Her certainly injured plenty of them, proving that the military training of Rome didn't end with swords. Hands clutched at him and he kept moving, twisting, punching, doing everything in his power to throw them off. It wasn't enough, though. He was too dizzy and there were too many villagers, and he couldn't keep them off him forever. They grasped his arms and wrapped the own around his torso, holding him steady as he struggled against them. A pair of men grabbed one of his legs and pulled it out, holding it still so he couldn't kick.

The man with the club made from the leg bone of some animal approached. The villagers fell quiet and looked to him with reverence. While they were distracted, he tried putting up a fight again, but they hadn't loosened their grips enough. The club wielder stood before Flynn, raised his club, and then swung it down on Flynn's lower leg. His grunt was muffled by the loud crack and then his crooked leg was released to fall to the ground. When it hit the dirt, another spike of pain shot up through his knee and all the way to his chest.

"No," he gasped when the man grabbed his other leg. His slumped into the villager's arms, unable to support his weight on his newly broken leg. "Not that one, too." They didn't understand him, and he doubted they would have heeded his words even if they had. He tried to kick their hands away for the principle of the thing, but as expected, it didn't do much good. The strongest of the men gripped his ankle and pulled tight, making a straight surface for the club-wielder to strike. Flynn couldn't keep from shouting this time as his shin splintered.

The villagers at last released him and he crumpled to the ground. His legs lay twisted beneath him, as broken as he dreams of running far away from here and reuniting with his centuria. The two men who had originally brought him here returned to grab him under the armpits and forced him up. They wrapped his arms around their shoulders and dragged him back through the grass toward the altar. His feet slid over rough patches of grass or small stones, each movement send waves of pain through his shattered legs. He couldn't help wonder if his legs would ever heal properly and allow him to run freely again, but then he looked at the altar and remembered that it wouldn't matter.

"Bastards," Flynn panted. He wanted to tear away from the men holding him, but even putting an ounce of weight on his legs threatened to make him throw up. The drug working through his system didn't help, making all the voices louder and distorted.

Another cloaked figure approached him with a bronze goblet in hand. The cloaked man dipped his finger in and it came out dripping with blood. It was probably from a pig, but in Flynn's panicking mind told him it must be human. He jerked his face away when the blood finger reached for him, the flowers around his neck tickling his throat.

"Get away from me!"

One of the people holding him grabbed the back of his head and twisted his face forward. A blood finger pressed into his forehead three times, leaving wet spots dripping into his eyebrows. The cloaked man - or priest, or druid, or whatever these people called their religious leaders - re-dipped his finger and traced a straight line down the bridge of his nose, then repeated for two more lines running from the spots to his jaw, smearing blood over his eyelids. Coppery blood so close to his nose at least masked the scent of the flowers.

The bloody man moved aside and Flynn was dragged toward the altar. "Let go," he pleaded futilely. If he had to die for a god, he wished he it could have been Mars, or Jupiter, or at least one that he actually cared for and not these barbarians' gods. They turned him around and pushed him onto the rock so the uneven surface dug into his back. His mangled legs bent over the edge and before he could try to sit up, two people grabbed his arms and held him down. The druid with the knife stood at the edge of the stone and held the iron blade over Flynn's chest.

"Curse all of you!" Flynn struggled against the men holding him down. Every movement sent stabs of pain through his legs, but he barely even noticed it.

The knife came down, but didn't pierce his skin. The druid cut through the front of Flynn's tunic, down to the belt, and pushed the fabric aside to bare Flynn's chest. The two other weapon-wielders came forward and took up position around the altar. The knife on his right, the braided cord on his left, and the club behind his head. Flynn wondered which of these was meant to kill him, and then considered the Britons' obsession with triplicates. What could be more sacred to these barbarians than killing a victim three different ways at the same time.

Flynn breathed heavily and his heart pounded against his ribs, like it was trying to escape a body it knew was doomed. "Fine. Kill me for your blasted gods. I'll see all of you in the underworld when Vespasian comes through and destroys you." If only they understood Latin so that at least he'd have the satisfaction of shouting at them.

The druid with the cord wrapped it around his neck and pulled until it began digging into his throat. The knife-wielder raised his blade again and Flynn wished he could keep his chest from rising up to meet it as he too deep breaths. He opened his mouth to curse them again, but then the cord tightened and his words cut off in a choke. The thin cord bit his throat and he thrashed his head and shoulders to try to throw it off. It took so little pressure to cut off someone's air.

The knife came down in a flash and plunged into his stomach. His scream was strangled out by the garrote but he managed to swing his broken legs up to kick the man away. Two more participants stepped forward to grab his knees and pin them to the rock. The hands gripping his arms held him down so firmly they'd leave bruises if he lived long enough for them to develop.

Blood smeared across his stomach as the blade sank into his abdomen. Flynn longed to scream but the garrote dug into his neck so tight it burned and it made it impossible to make any noise beyond gurgles and moans. His blood dripped down his sides and onto the carved stone.

Gods, why did they have to draw this out? Couldn't they just slit his throat and be done with it? Every time his vision dipped into blackness he hoped that he'd open his eyes and find himself in the vast, peaceful fields of Elysium. But when he closed his eyes, he didn't feel the warm breeze of paradise, just another puncture that began blurring together with all the rest so his torso was nothing but a burning mass of pain, and when he opened his eyes he saw nothing but the emotionless face of the club-wielder looming over him.

His struggles were growing weak from the blood loss and lack of air. Flynn prayed the man strangling him would pull tighter and let him pass out before the stab wounds became any worse. The man with the club lifted it high. Two extremes of emotion rushed through him: dread that he was about to die, and gratefulness that it was about to be over. Please, bring that thing down hard and cave his skull in to end his sensation.

The man lifted his arms up - and then staggered. The club dropped from his hands and he looked down at himself in confusion. The garrote loosened and Flynn took a deep gasp of air before paying any attention to what was going on.

Shouts rang out from the distance and the villagers' voices raised in answer. An arrow stuck out of the club-wielder's chest and the strangler turned around to see what was happening. Shouts got louder, and closer, accompanied by the clink of armour. Flynn had never been so glad to hear Latin.

"Release arrows! Forward march!"

His centuria was here.

The villagers were shouting themselves and running for their homes to arm themselves. The man who'd been about to crush Flynn's skull lay collapsed on the ground, and more bodies dropped as the Roman archers fired into the crowd.

And then, stillness. Blood rushed in Flynn's ears and he took long, burning breaths. The garrote was still embedded in his skin, but no one held it tight. Each breath brought the scent of blood and flowers, which swirled together in his fading consciousness. Soldiers ran toward the altar and he dimly heard their frightened voices calling for him. He lacked the strength the answer, but figured they'd see his heaving chest as he struggled to breathe. The villagers had been taken by surprise this time, so Flynn trusted his troops to secure a victory in this battle without his leadership.

Flynn closed his eyes. Maybe he'd awake next time in a medical tent preparing to be sent back to Rome for a lengthy recovery. Maybe he'd awake in gently rolling hills of the Elysian Fields and put military life behind him. At this point, he honestly didn't care.

* * *

 **Note:** Usually when I write a history AU, I try to be as accurate as possible. In this case, I based this story on archaeological evidence, sensationalized Roman propaganda, and making things up. There is very little evidence that Celts ever sacrificed Roman prisoners, and archaeologists debate whether they sacrificed anyone at all. If they did, it would have been members of their own tribes. The wounds suffered by Flynn are based on evidence found on bog bodies that may have been sacrificial victims, but anything that wouldn't leave physical evidence was made up.


	3. Blood Bath

**#3 Blood Bath**

Pale light from the waxing moon drifted through the gap in Estelle's curtains. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, wondering if that was what had woken her up. But then, it might have been servants or guards walking outside her door. A castle was never quiet, and with a war on the verge of breaking out with the neighbouring kingdom, the security had noticeably increased.

She slipped out of bed and approached the window. The stone floor chilled her bare feet and her long nightgown fluttered around her ankles. Through the window, she looked down on the town she had never walked through. The king said she had to stay inside the castle for her own protection, but she couldn't help dreaming of the day she got to leave. Flynn, the Captain of the Guard, told her so many stories about his rides through the countryside and sights he'd seen beyond the castle. Someday, she would go out there herself. During the day, she could see the edge of a distant forest from her bedroom, but everyone said it was home to monsters and she was forbidden to ever go there. She couldn't stay cooped up in here forever. And maybe… she smiled to herself as she tugged the curtain closed, maybe someday Flynn would take her out to see the woods and it wouldn't be dangerous, because she'd be with him. It would be just the two of them, exploring the wilderness and seeing the world….

A girl could dream, couldn't she? Flynn wasn't royal enough to be an appropriate marriage for a princess, but she could enjoy spending time with him while they could.

Estelle turned to go back to her bed, but she paused. There was something… something not quite right in her room, but she couldn't put her finger on what. She approached her bed, slowly. Light alone usually wasn't enough to wake her, so perhaps the something she noticed now was what had disturbed her sleep. Some sound, perhaps. Estelle concentrated on her hearing as she stood next to her bed and peered around the dark room. She considered lighting a candle, but didn't want to be wasteful over what was probably nothing. Then, experimentally, she held her breath.

The sound of breathing continued, and it was coming from under her bed.

Estelle leapt back at the same time a hand shot out and grabbed her ankle. The hand pulling forward and her body moving backward was enough to throw her off her feet and she landed hard on the ground. A human figure crawled out from beneath her bed, and she kicked her free foot right at his face. It landed with satisfying solidity and the man's head jerked aside.

"Guards!" she screamed and started to get up. "Guards, come-"

The intruder grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, slapping a hand over her mouth. Estelle shoved against him, but he seemed to be made of solid muscle. He turned around and tossed her onto her bed. Estelle screamed against as soon as her mouth was free, and then the intruder straddled her on the bed and pressed her right arm against the mattress, palm up. He didn't seem to care about her screaming anymore, probably because anyone who would answer would have heard her by now and were already coming.

"Get off me!" Estelle struggled against his weight crushing her into the bed. When the dim light flashed on a knife, her struggles became more earnest. "No, no, stop! What do you want?! G-go away!"

She used her free hand to punch him and then try to hold back the wrist with the knife, but he was too strong for her. The knife slashed across her pinned wrist and she whined at the sudden flash of pain.

He dropped the knife and pulled a glass vial, ripped the cork out with his teeth and then poured the contents on the bloody gash. It felt like fire being poured on the wound and Estelle's eyes filled with tears. "Stop! Please, Mister Intruder, please stop!"

He moved fast, probably because he could heard the running footsteps coming down the hall, too. The cut burned as he rubbed the liquid into the wound, while he chanted in a strange language she didn't know. Estelle continued doing her best to punch and kick him, but he probably weighed twice as much as she did and she didn't think he even noticed her attacks.

The door burst open and a handful of guards swarmed in. "The princess! Protect the princess!"

Finally the weight left her as the man swung his legs over the bed and made a break for the window. He didn't get far. The guards were upon him in moments, and Estelle rolled on her side and squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she could close her ears so she didn't have to hear the squelches and grunts as he died. Her breath came fast and she clutched her bloody wrist. She had no idea what the man had poured into the wound, but it still burned.

"Lady Estellise!" Flynn's voice did wonders to calm her down.

When she opened her eyes, she saw him running into the room. "Flynn!"

"What happened?" he demanded of his guards.

"We heard the princess scream and came running. This man was assaulting her in her bed."

Flynn's frantic gaze turned to Estelle. "Are you-"

"I'm fine." She pulled herself up. "I mean… he cut me." She held out her blood wrist. "But that's all."

Flynn nodded in relief. "Remove the body. Inform His Majesty what has happened. Tell him I will discuss it with him in his study in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir!"

When the guards had left with the body, Flynn sat on the edge of the bed. He kept both feet firmly on the ground for the sake of propriety, but that didn't stop Estelle from crawling up against him. Flynn wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her tight until the shaking stopped.

"Are you sure you're fine?" he murmured.

She nodded and then ran her finger over the cut. "It's already healed, look."

Flynn's rough finger traced the raised, red line, but pulled back when she hissed in pain. It was still sensitive. "Sorry. That's odd that it closed so quickly, though."

"He poured something in it. It burned when it went in and he said strange words. Flynn, I think it was something magic. Who could he have been?"

"Someone from the other kingdom, I'm sure. You know war is about to break out. I suppose they thought putting a curse on the princess would be a good way to kick things off."

Estelle licked her lips and eyed the blood smeared across her wrist. "I wonder what kind of curse it was."

* * *

That had been a week ago. Estelle sat on a pillow in a red tent, pushing peas around her plate. She'd always dreamed of leaving the castle and seeing more of the world, but… not like this.

"You should eat," Flynn said. "You haven't eaten much all day."

"I know." Her stomach growled, but the thought of food made her nauseous. She pushed her plate toward Flynn. "You eat it."

"I already had my dinner."

"Then give it to one of your men."

"They've already eaten, too. The only one who still needs to eat is you."

Beyond the tent, she heard the low voices and laughter of the retinue of soldiers. It had been two days since they left the castle, and the adventure of finally leaving her home had given way to a new type of boredom. She spent her days sitting in the carriage all alone, surrounded by guards who never spoke to her. She wished Flynn could sit in the carriage with her, but as the captain, he had to ride at the front and lead the retinue.

"I'll eat when we get to Aspio. How much longer will it be, do you think?"

Flynn eyed her untouched dinner. "We'll probably arrive tomorrow afternoon. Please, Estellise, it's unhealthy to go without eating. Do you really feel that dreadful?"

She rested a hand over her empty stomach. "I really do, Flynn. I'm so hungry, but I feel like if I eat, I'll throw up. I've felt like this ever since…."

Flynn reached across the table to rest his hand on hers. Estelle smiled as his thumb rubbed the side of her hand. One good thing about this trip was that they had a lot more chances to be alone together than they did in the castle. She wondered if after she got back, the restrictions placed on her would be lifted. After all, she'd been confined to the castle to keep her safe, and that clearly hadn't worked.

After a week, Estelle still couldn't figure out exactly what the man had done to her. The mark on her wrist left a sensitive scar, but she hadn't noticed any dark magic surrounding her, other than difficulty sleeping at night and finding food unappetizing despite her empty stomach. However, there was a mighty wizard in the city of Aspio, and it was the king's hope that this Mordio could identify - and hopefully lift - the curse.

"Alright," Flynn said and squeezed her hand. "As long as you promise to share a huge meal with me as soon as Mordio lifts the curse."

She beamed at him. "I will, Flynn. I promise."

"Ok. I think we should both get some sleep now. We'll be up at dawn to hit the road again."

Estelle followed Flynn to the exit of her tent. Before he left, she grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. "Flynn…" she mumbled into his chest, "I'm glad you're here."

Flynn rubbed her back. "I'm sorry that this happened to you in the first place to necessitate the trip, but I'm glad I can be with you since it has." He kissed the top of her head and then pushed the tent flap open.

When Estelle entered the tent after they first step up camp, it had still been sunset. It was pure night now, and the full moon shone straight above them. Estelle's eyes locked on it like a moth fixated on a torch.

"Estellise?"

Tingling erupting all over her body. "I… I feel…"

"Estellise? What's wrong?"

Her chest tightened. The tingling turned to burning. She gasped and hunched over as aches radiated through her body.

"Estellise!" Flynn rubbed her back as he looked around the tent, panicked. "Are you sick? What can I do for you?"

"Oh… oh…." Estelle moaned as needles prickled every inch of skin. She shook away Flynn's hand, which only made it worse. Every muscle ached and she culd feel them pulling and stretching, straining her bones. "F-Flynn - I -" she broke off with a cry. Whatever the man had done to her that night, she had a feeling she was about to find out what it was.

Estelle fell to her knees. Her limbs twitched and cracked, her skin was on fire, her heart throbbed in her ears. She let out another cry when her fingers bent and cracked of their own accord and her face filled with agony from intense pressure. Blood rushed past her ears and she squeezed her eyes shut to try to deal with the awful, all-encompassing pain. She thought her body was going to rip itself apart from the inside and then a sensation swept over her that even managed to dwarf the pain: she was so _hungry_.

* * *

It was the caw of a raven that woke Estelle up. Her eyes flashed open to see early dawn sunlight and a raven picking at a corpse. Grass tickled her cheek and a cool breeze ran over her bare leg.

Wait - bare leg? With a jolt, Estelle realized she was naked. She gasped and sat up, squeezing her legs together and wrapping her arms over her chest. "What…?" The taste of blood in her mouth surprised her. Had she bitten her cheek? She looked around to get an idea of where she was. The last thing she remembered was saying goodnight to Flynn, and then she'd seen the moon and started to feel prickly and uncomfortable. She was still at the campsite along the road, but her tent lay in ruins and the guards….

"No!" There had been about twenty men in the party escorting the princess to Aspio. That many corpses now littered what had once been a campsite. "No, oh no, oh why…."

Estelle crawled toward the nearest soldier, the one with a raven munching on exposed innards. "Shoo!" When Estelle waved her hands at the bird, she saw them streaked with blood. She gasped and gazed at them, turning them over and over as if she'd suddenly realized they were hers. Not only were they bloody, but she felt thickness under her fingernails from dried blood. "Oh my goodness." What had happened last night? Why couldn't she remember? Something must have attacked the camp, and she barely survived defending herself from it.

She examined the wounds on the soldier. He was covered in claw and bite marks, like he'd been attacked by a large wolf. Memories flitted through her mind - running soldiers, screaming, the scent of blood, the taste of meat. She swallowed deeply and looked back toward the tent. Sticking out from the entrance was the sleeve of the blue gown she'd been wearing, now ripped to shreds. What had done that?

"Oh, no." The ground was covered in footprints. Mostly human, but there were large, wolfish prints in the soft ground as well. They led toward the patch of grass where she'd woken up and then disappeared. "Oh, god." Estelle put her hands to her mouth an felt more blood. With one of the few bare patches on the back of her hand, she rubbed around her mouth and cheeks and realized her face was also covered in blood. There were no cuts on the inside of her mouth, but the taste nearly overwhelmed her. "No," she gasped. "Oh, no, no, _no_!"

She scrambled to her feet and hurried to the next body. She tried not to look down at herself as she walked, unable to stomach the sight of her body so covered in blood. It clung to her hair and tickled as it dried on her stomach. She dropped to her knees in front of the next soldier, a young man no older than eighteen. Chunks of muscle were missing from his arm, exposing gnawed bone. Estelle noted that for the first time in several days, her stomach felt full.

Disgust strangled the scream trying to get out. She turned away and stuck her fingers down her throat until she choked and vomited. Estelle kept her eyes shut tight and when she'd fully emptied her stomach, she looked away and refuse to see what had come up.

"No… oh, god, no…." There was meat caked under her nails and a piece of something stuck between her teeth. Feeling it on her tongue made her heave again even though all that was left in her stomach was bile. Her arms squeezed her chest and a proper scream finally escaped, ripping out with enough force to hurt her throat. When she ran out of breath, she took a gulp of air that brought a fresh taste of blood and then she screamed again until an opportunistic raven fled in fright.

And finally, a fresh horror was able to cut through her mind: Flynn. Her whole chest tensed up and all she could do was moan in horror. _Flynn_. Where was he? Did he lay among these corpses? Among her _prey_?

Estelle rose to her shaky feet. She had to find him. If she'd… if, during her rampage last night, she'd turned on… oh, God, she couldn't even think it. She just had to know. Estelle stumbled through the grass, gazing upon each face with a fresh wave of guilt. They were all dead because of her. She stumbled over clumps of grass and the breeze was cool on all her exposed skin. But, she figured, she was now covered in more blood than some women wore cloth. Besides, it wasn't the wind that sent shivers down her spine every few seconds.

She reached the edge of the group of soldiers, but she hadn't found Flynn. Could he have escaped? No, that wasn't Flynn. He wouldn't run away while his men were still in danger. Then her eyes fell on the bright red tent and she recalled him standing beside her, frantically trying to help, as the transformation wracked her body. He'd been right next to her when she changed. _Oh god_.

Estelle staggered toward the tent, unwilling to move any faster. She couldn't bear to find confirmation that she'd killed Flynn, just like she'd killed all these soldiers. Blood had splattered her feet when she first woke up, but the grass was so bathed in it that she could have been wearing red socks by the time she reached the tent. She fell to her knees once more and grabbed the fabric of the tent, throwing it to the side. A pair of legs emerged, streaked with blood. Her stomach twisted and she pushed the tent all the way off, revealing Flynn lying still. Claw marks dug into his cheek and jaw, his chest was ripped up, and she could almost see the bone in a deep bite near his elbow.

"Flynn!" Estelle screamed. She knelt beside him and buried her face in her hands. "Flynn… Flynn, no…." Tears sprang up in her eyes and she sobbed, "No… no…." Was it Flynn she tasted on her tongue? She really was a monster. Surely, even if she'd become a beast, some animal part of her would have recognized Flynn as a friend.

Fingers brushed her knee. Estelle gasped so hard she choked on her tears and looked to see Flynn's bloodied fingers twitching.

"Flynn!"

His eyes cracked open and slowly focused on her. "Good," he croaked, his voice barely audible. "You're ok."

She stared with incredulity and for a moment, all she could do was sob again. "Of course I'm ok! But you! Oh, Flynn, oh my god, I'm so sorry…." Perhaps her animalistic self had recognized Flynn after all. Not enough to hold back an attack, but enough to keep from finishing the job.

"Not your fault," Flynn muttered and closed his eyes again.

Estelle grabbed Flynn's and and squeezed tightly. "Flynn, Flynn please, stay with me. I c-can't have killed you. I couldn't live with myself."

"'M not dead."

But he would be soon if she didn't do anything. He still had so many open wounds and he was so weak. She had to do something!

With trembling hands and vision blurred by tears, Estelle cut the tent apart to make bandages. There were plenty of abandoned knives available. She tied them tight around his wounds, wincing at every pained grunt and whimper he let out when she jostled him. Flynn wasn't supposed to be weak like this, but then, she wasn't supposed to have done this to him. When she'd done everything that she could for him, she took the remainder of the tent, wrapped it around her shoulders, and curled up on the gross beside him. She knew she couldn't carry him all the way to Aspio by herself, but another carriage would come along the road eventually. It had to.

Estelle pressed her head against him as she lay tight. Would this happen again tonight? What if this Mordio wizard didn't know how to fix it? She couldn't awake to a bloodbath like this ever again. For Flynn's sake, she couldn't let this happen again. So, she would wait for a traveller. They'd go to Aspio, Flynn would get the medical attention he needed, and Mordio would find a way to reverse the curse so that no one ever suffered because of her again. And if Mordio couldn't, well…. Estelle sniffled and curled up closer to Flynn, hoping to get as much closeness from him as she could while she had the chance. If Mordio couldn't fix this, then she would leave. She couldn't risk anything even remotely close to this happening to Flynn again. She would go to the woods, and live beneath the trees she'd always dreamed of visiting. After all, everyone said the forest was was where monsters lived.


	4. Backstabbed

This is for the prompt "Backstabbed", and is heavily based on the Edgar Allan Poe story "The Cask of Amontillado." This is fic #4 over here, but there's a 5th one that's only on AO3 due to graphic sexual content. You can look for it over there under the title "A Good Knight".

* * *

 **#4 Backstabbed**

When Flynn Scifo was promoted to lieutenant, I congratulated him. He had joined the Knights a few months after I did, and I took him under my wing. It made me proud to see how he flourished. Within weeks, I considered him an equal, and within months he had surpassed me. What strength! What charisma! The rest of our unit looked to him as our leader even before it was made official. For the first few months, he was inseparable from Lowell. After that vagabond deserted, he began to spend his free hours with me instead. We frequently trained together, he and I. I could never hope to beat him in a sparring match, but when we finished, he always gave me a smile, a pat on my back, and said, "You're getting better." He was an inspiration to us all.

When Flynn Scifo was promoted to captain, I frowned. I loved Flynn, as we all did, but it seemed such a quick promotion. Over two and a half years of hard work to make lieutenant, but under one to reach captain? Of course he was a wonderful knight, but was he truly _that_ wonderful? He became not only the leader of my unit, but the leader of my entire brigade. They called us the Flynn Brigade, and no one seemed to mention that the namesake had only been a knight for a few years. I was still a private at the time, despite the fact that I had worked hard since before he was even a knight. Why was it, then, that I was a lowly private and he a mighty captain? And when he was a captain, his arrogance became more clear than ever. He sparred with his own troops, showing us up at every opportunity. He had the gall to point out every mistake after a sword fight and then rub it in our faces by saying, "You're getting better." Better, yes, but still not as good as him.

When Flynn Scifo was promoted to commandant, I wanted to spit in his face. Now, I knew, this was clearly a sham. After a scant few months as a captain, he had the honour of becoming commandant? This was preposterous. He was only twenty-one years old, and I twenty-five. He was but a child, and a commoner at that, and I - scion of a long and illustrious family - was expected to kneel before him? Him, this youth whom I had tutored when he first joined? Every time we met, he would tell me, "You're getting better," in that mocking tone. It was all I could do not to slap him, but by then he was the commandant and striking him would land me in terrible discipline.

What, then, was I to do? Every day I went to work in the castle, where I saw him strutting through the halls in his elegant uniform. No boy so inexperienced deserves such honourable colours. I am certain that he did something foul to gain favour with the emperor. I have seen them standing together (and what arrogance for the boy to stand side by side with the emperor!) and noticed the resemblance between their faces. They are related, I am sure. Cousins, perhaps. This explains everything, because nepotism is a much more logical explanation for his prominence than anything else. He achieved his rank through dishonest means and something must be done about this.

I met Flynn on the street at dusk. He walked home this way every night to return to his house outside the castle.

"Good evening, sir." I fell into step beside him.

"Oh! It's so good to see you again. How are you?"

"I am quite well, thank you." I thought about what the evening had in store and added, "Very well, indeed."

"I'm glad to hear it. I wish we had more time to talk these days. I'm just so busy, you understand."

"Yes. I imagine that commandant is a title that carries many responsibilities."

Flynn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You have no idea. Sometimes I miss the old days when I was just a regular solider like you. But," he straightened up and smiled, "I can't complain. So, what do you have planned for tonight?"

"I have something of a problem, actually. I fear some sort of monster has taken root in the cellar of my house."

"A monster?"

"Yes. It sneaked in when the blastia disappeared, I believe, and has been growing. I don't normally go down there, so it took me quite by surprise this morning. I'm going to deal with it once and for all tonight."

"Do you need any assistance?"

It did not surprise me that he doubted my ability to take care of this himself. Truly, his arrogance is what makes him so easily played. "Not at all. I'm sure I can handle it."

"It might be dangerous. I'm not doing anything tonight; let me come with you just in case."

"If you insist."

We talked idly on the walk to my house. He pestered me for details of my life, and taunted me over whether I was still single. I find it hard, now, to recall why I was ever fond of this little brat in the first place. Perhaps it was because I felt sorry for him back then, but I am long past such character faults now.

My home sat empty when we arrived. I had inherited it from my family before their deaths, and as I have no partner, I live here alone. "I like the new wallpaper," Flynn said when we entered. "It looks nicer than the last time I was here. How long ago was that?"

"Six months, sir."

"That long?" Flynn smiled and shook his head. "We used to dine together multiple times a week when we were both privates. Let's get back to having dinner more regularly, shall we?"

"Yes." I smiled at him. "I would enjoy having you here during dinner. But come this way; the monster is in the cellar." I led him away from the entrance and to the back of the house, to a heavy wooden door near the kitchen.

"Be cautious," he advised. "What sort of monster do you think it is?"

"Insectoid," I claimed, and then motioned for him to go down first. He always did like to lead the way when anything unpleasant reared its head.

We descended the stone steps into the chill dampness of the cellar. The only light came from the open door at the top of the stairs, which grew dimmer when we turned a corner. "Through there," I said, and pointed to a door. "That is the storeroom where it has nested."

I followed close behind Flynn. We both had our swords in hand, but Flynn was concentrating on the darkness ahead of him while I was concentrating on the back his head. As he stepped into the storeroom, I brought the hilt of my sword crashing into the back of his head. The crack resounded in the empty cellar and he slumped to the ground without a peep. I feared I had killed him prematurely, but when I crouched and held my hand over his face, I felt the soft exhale of a breath. When I stood, he was already stirring. I had to move quickly, then.

I dragged Flynn into the room, which was scarcely four feet wide and six high. My hair brushed the ceiling as I entered. Against the back wall were four manacles recently bolted to the wall. Flynn let out a moan and began to return to consciousness, so I quickly hefted him off the ground, leaned him against the wall, and fastened the cuffs around his wrists.

"Wh… what?"

I clamped the remaining fetters around his ankles just as he began to realize his predicament.

"What is this?"

I didn't answer him right away. Instead, I left the room with a bounce in my step and returned from another part of the cellar with a wheelbarrow of bricks and a bucket of mortar. On my knees, I began to spread the mortar.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Yes!" I laughed and pressed bricks into the mortar. "Don't you think it's funny?"

Flynn frowned and pulled at the shackles. "I'm not sure I see the humour."

"It's a grand joke. You will soon see." I steadily stacked the bricks, laying the first, second, and third layer.

The chains rattled. "I think this has gone on long enough."

I began working on the fourth layer. "Not at all. I'm barely a quarter done."

Flynn struggled against the shackles, but it didn't do much good. The bricks were far enough away from his body, thus he couldn't hope to kick them and knock them down while they dried. That didn't stop him from trying, though, and I wondered how greatly he injured his wrists with all the pulling.

"That's enough! This isn't funny."

"Are you sure?" The bricks were up to my waist now. "To me, it seems very funny." Each brick was thick and heavy, and it became a chore to lift them up to the height of my wall.

"Unlock these shackles."

I hummed to myself as I worked on the wall. It spanned from one wall to the other, perfectly blocking off the last foot or so of the storeroom. The bricks, of course, were of the same grey stone the rest of the walls were made of. Flynn watched me work with nervous eyes. He still believed this was a joke, but I think he was intentionally lying to himself. He so dearly wished it to be a joke, and was likely telling himself that any minute now, I'd burst into laughter and tease him about actually being scared.

"You've had your prank, ha-ha, very funny. Now please, I'm tired and ready to go home."

"You are home." The lines of bricks were now at my breast. "At least, you're where you're going to be for the rest of your life. That's sort of like home."

"What the hell?!" The chains rattled once more. "You can't be serious!"

I smiled and gently smoothed mortar over the bricks.

"Why?!" He growled in frustration as he fought against the chains. I had installed them only yesterday, so there was no chance he could break them. Even the mighty Flynn Scifo was not that strong. "Why are you doing this?! I thought we were friends!"

I worked quickly and ignored his questions. There was a time when he could command me to answer him, but I would never take orders from the little upstart again. Instead, I could relish his shouts of anger and confusion as I peacefully laid my brickwork. He did so blather on. Flynn called my name and pleaded to our years-long friendship, asked what he had done to offend me, begged me to think things through and realize what a mistake this was, and other miscellany. I think I enjoyed his whining as much as I enjoyed the prospect of a Flynn Scifo-less Knighthood. He always thought he was above us all, and hearing him beg me for mercy was a good and proper restoration of order.

There was only one brick left to lay. I had left a gap in the top row in front of Flynn's face, so that I could keep watching his frightened and confused expression as I sealed him in.

"You can't do this," Flynn implored.

"And yet, it looks like I can."

"Please! For the sake of how long we've known each other!"

I nodded at his panicked face and picked up the final brick. "Yes. Because of how long we've known each other."

He started screaming, but the brick sliding into place muffled it. I ran my trowel over the wall of bricks, smoothing out the drying mortar. The wall blended seamlessly with the rest of the cellar, especially in the darkness. It would be hard to guess that this room used to extend a foot and a half deeper. "Goodbye, Flynn."

It was yesterday evening that I took care of the thorn in my side. I had such a peaceful sleep. When I awoke this morning, I lay within piles of blankets and pillows and thought about Flynn Scifo, my nemesis. He would probably live for several days yet, and as I lay snug in my bed, he was rotting in chains in the pitch darkness of that tiny space. The thought pleasured me.

I descended the steps to the cellar giddily and entered the storeroom with a smile. I was there to check on the bricks, I told myself, and yet I couldn't help but speak. "Good morning, Flynn. Are you still among he living?"

His muffled shouts of indignation were truly the best thing to wake up to. I believe he was saying something about being friends, this surely being a misunderstanding, and how it wasn't too late to change my mind. It was hard to make out through the thick bricks and his inevitable exhaustion. I suppose he had been shouting and struggling against the chains all night, which was quite foolish of him because the sooner he wears himself out, the sooner he will need water. But then, perhaps he would prefer speeding death along.

It is evening now. The Knighthood is in a tizzy due to the missing commandant. They have, of course, made locating him their highest priority. Even when he isn't there, he's the centre of attention. There are knights knocking on my door now. I have to wonder, did anyone see him walk home with me last night? Is it possible they are aware I was the last person to see him? Will they search my house, and if so, will Flynn scream loud enough to get their attention?

I wonder.


End file.
